


You'll Never Be Alone

by werewolvesandarrows (nerdy_farm_girl)



Series: Tumblr Fic [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Shots, Drinking Games, Future Fic, Multi, Oral Sex, Poly pack, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Seven Minutes In Heaven, Spin the Bottle, Threesome, implied isaac/allison, mentioned allison/lydia, mentioned allison/malia/kira, shot gunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/pseuds/werewolvesandarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches through the haze as Scott pulls off his shirt and lays flat on his back, giggling like an idiot when Stiles licks a long line up the side of his neck. Stiles’ obscene fingers curl around the salt shaker, white salt stark against Scott’s skin, other hand plucking a lime from the bowl sitting in front of Lydia and placing it between Scott’s teeth. “Stop laughing asshole,” Stiles demands, not able to follow the command himself as he attempts to fill Scott’s belly button was tequila. Scott’s still giggling, rivets of alcohol running across his abs and down the cut of his hips. Derek’s mouth begins to water as Lydia starts screeching at Stiles to get on with it. It’s both the best and worst thing Derek’s ever seen. Stiles lips sucking harshly against the column of Scott’s throat, the absolutely awful slurping as he sucks the tequila up, Scott’s laughter quieting when Stiles’ closes his mouth over his lips, biting at the lime but not pulling away nearly as fast as he should have. Derek’s jeans are feeling a little tight and there’s a part of him that wants them to keep going, wants to <em>watch</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Never Be Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexenglish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/gifts).



> Alex Prompted: poly pack, spin the bottle  
> This is what came out :)
> 
> (Title from Can't Feel My Face by The Weeknd because I'm still obsessed)

**Spin The Bottle With Stiles© _2.0_**

You Will Need:

●     A Bottle (if you don’t know that, you need help) (I’m looking at you Scott)

●     A Die. (This is the singular form of dice for you heathens that don’t speak properly)

●     A bunch of good looking friends (You can start with me)

Game Play:

1.   Everybody sit their asses in a circle.

2.   Put bottle in the middle of said circle

3.   Pick someone to go first (I don’t care how). That person (player A) spins the bottle, which chooses their partner (player B).

4.   Then player A rolls the die, which determines the activity they will complete with player B

  * One - Tongue kiss  _(1 &4)_
  * Two - Body shots. Both of you.  _(2 & 5)_
  * ~~Three - Tell your partner their sexiest features (and they do the same)~~
  * Four - Seven Minutes in Heaven (yeah baby)  _(3 &6)_
  * ~~Five - Hug each other. For a solid two minutes.~~
  * ~~Six - Sing a song together~~



5.   Once the activity has been completed, the person seated to the left of player A takes a turn… and so on and so forth.

* * *

“Why do you even have this?” Derek asks, words rolling off his tongue like molasses. He waves the wrinkled piece of paper in Stiles’ direction, not even wanting to attempt to identify the stains smearing the ink. He feels good right now, like there’s nothing in the world he could ever possibly need to worry about. Stiles just giggles, rolling onto his back on Scott and Kira’s hardwood floor.

“Did you really think you’d get an answer Der?” Erica asks, digging a sharp elbow into his side. Derek just pushes her face away until she too rolls onto her back, giggling and patting lazily at Boyd’s chest. Derek’s attention is soon caught by Allison, who leans over the back of the couch and presses her lips to Lydia’s. Smoke curls between them when they part, and Derek’s not the only one whose heart skips in interest. Isaac pushes a joint into his hands and Derek takes a hit, leaning back on his elbows and letting the smoke seep slowly between his lips.

“God help me,” Stiles groans, followed by the distinct sound of a skull thudding on hardwood. “Let’s just start the fucking game.” There’s some mumbled protests but everybody circles up, sitting cross legged on the floor, eyes glassy from the weed and the wine. It had taken them years, but Stiles and Lydia had eventually figured out how to get werewolves drunk. And high, apparently, although that is a newer development. Derek isn’t all that sure of the specifics, as the eldest member of the pack he tried to at least maintain an air of maturity. But now that he’s tried it, now that he knows how  _good_  he can feel, he should probably figure out what he’s really consuming. Right now though… right now he’s feeling carefree enough to actually go along with Stiles’ high school level party game.

Stiles cheers when Scott finally plops down beside him, bottle of tequila in one hand and a glass of what Derek thinks might be spiked punch in the other. It’s weird to think about, how these kids aren’t really kids anymore, how they’re all older now than he was when he first met them. Found them, really.

“I’ll go first!” Kira volunteers, leaning forward and spinning the empty wine bottle that had somehow appeared in the middle of the circle. The room falls silent as they all watch it spin, slowing and then wobbling to a stop, pointing directly at Malia. Derek’s surprised when his cousin grins in a predatory way, eyes sparkling as she watches Kira roll the dye. It lands on four, and Kira’s already blushing as she crawls across the circle and places her palm flat against Malia’s cheek. There’s a few seconds of silent communication, and then all of a sudden they’re kissing. It’s not at all like he’s expecting, the exact opposite of chaste and shy. Their lips meet like they’re old friends, heads tilting and noses sliding against each other easily, naturally, in a way no first kiss should ever be. Derek feels like he should have questions, like this might be wrong, but Scott doesn’t look all too concerned about it so Derek figures he shouldn’t be either. The girls don’t seem to be showing any signs of stopping, there’s hands tangled in hair and Kira’s managed to crawl halfway onto Malia’s lap.

“Alright, alright,” Stiles cuts in after a few more moments, waving some complicated hand gesture at Scott until the alpha finally sighs and drags Kira back into place beside him. Both she and Malia seem to be pouting, but their expressions clear when Scott leans forward and spins the bottle. The tension humming in the room seems to only increase with each swing of the bottle, and Derek realizes abruptly that there’s not a single person in this room that isn’t radiating hopefulness. Himself included.

The bottle finally settles on Stiles, and Derek has to hold in an eye roll when the idiots actually high five. It’s hard to believe that they both have college degrees (even though Scott is still working towards becoming a vet). Scott tosses the dye, barely even watching as it falls, eyes tracking along the length of Stiles’ neck. Derek swallows hard, willing himself not to notice. He doesn’t need to be getting turned on right now (not that anyone else seems to be stopping themselves). He fumbles for the joint resting in the makeshift ashtray behind him, lighting it again and taking another drag.

He watches through the haze as Scott pulls off his shirt and lays flat on his back, giggling like an idiot when Stiles licks a long line up the side of his neck. Stiles’ obscene fingers curl around the salt shaker, white salt stark against Scott’s skin, other hand plucking a lime from the bowl sitting in front of Lydia and placing it between Scott’s teeth. “Stop laughing asshole,” Stiles demands, not able to follow the command himself as he attempts to fill Scott’s belly button was tequila. Scott’s still giggling, rivets of alcohol running across his abs and down the cut of his hips. Derek’s mouth begins to water as Lydia starts screeching at Stiles to get on with it. It’s both the best and worst thing Derek’s ever seen. Stiles lips sucking harshly against the column of Scott’s throat, the absolutely awful slurping as he sucks the tequila up, Scott’s laughter quieting when Stiles’ closes his mouth over his lips, biting at the lime but not pulling away nearly as fast as he should have. Derek’s jeans are feeling a little tight and there’s a part of him that wants them to keep going, wants to _watch_.

It only gets worse when Stiles pulls of his shirt, revealing those broad shoulders and lean muscles that Derek hasn’t been able to  _not_  notice. He glances at Erica beside him, expecting her to be giving him a knowing look, only to find her wrapped around Boyd. There’s definitely hands in places he doesn’t need to see, and he looks quickly back at the scene in front of him. Stiles is the one giggling this time, entire body shaking in his attempts to keep still. Scott licks a horizontal line from one puffy nipple to the other, eyes crinkling with laughter as the scent of Stiles’ arousal spikes.

“Ah ah ah,” Scott admonishes when Stiles reaches for a lime, straddling his thighs and pinning him in place. Stiles isn’t the only one who swallows hard, and he’s definitely not the only one whose pulse starts to race. Scott smirks and places a shot glass between Stiles’ teeth and fills it with tequila. Every muscle in Stiles’ body is taunt as Scott laps at the salt sprinkled across his chest, tongue flicking at one nipple and then the other. Stiles lets out a garbled noise that sounds a lot like  _fuck you asshole_ , which only makes Scott laugh. He must take pity on Stiles though, because he closes his lips around the shot glass, tipping it back, throat bobbing as he swallows down the liquor. He spits out the glass, and Derek catches it on instinct, feels a flush spreading up the back of his neck when Scott winks at him. And then the alpha’s ducking back down over Stiles, kissing him (and presumably biting a lime somewhere in there) until Isaac yells something rude and starts clapping his hands.

Stiles manages to push himself back up onto his knees, pupils dilated as he spins the bottle. It lands on Isaac, who’s mouth goes pinched as if he’s the one who’s been sucking on limes.

“Oh come on Stilinski,” he groans, covering his face with his hands. Stiles just grins, well, grins  _evilly_ , rolling the dye and looking disappointed when it lands on one.

“Come on Lahey, let me lay one on ya!” He drawls, crawling in what he undoubtedly imagines to be a sexy manner across the floor. Derek has seen Stiles in action before, and it’s unfortunate that the dumbass seems to be a thousand times more attractive when he’s  _not_  trying. Doesn’t mean it would  _ever_  work on Isaac though. It feels like everyone’s holding their breath as Stiles cups Isaac’s cheeks in his hands and appears to stare soulfully into his eyes. And then Stiles just presses a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, dissolving into hysterical giggles as Isaac flushes brilliantly red.

“Get out of the way Stilinski,” Lydia growls, dragging him back by the collar of his shirt so that she can crawl forward on her knees and spin the bottle. Derek feels mesmerized by it, watching it twirl around on the floor. It takes him a second to realize that it’s landed on him, and that Lydia’s already unbuttoning her shirt. Which can only mean… He swallows hard when his eyes find the five little black dots staring back at him.

“No, no,” he croaks, reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Do me first.” He ignores the way several heart beats skip when he pulls it over his head, reaching for Boyd’s abandoned bottle of werewolf approved beer and gulping it down. Plastering a smirk on his face he reclines back on his elbows, attempting to match Lydia’s predatory look. He knows it’s useless, but he has to at least  _try_ , and he feels just the slightest bit victorious when Lydia’s neck and chest start to go blotchy.

“Alright Hale,” she grins at him, flicking open the button of his jeans and yanking them lower down his hips. Derek flashes his eyes at her but she doesn’t even flinch, just ducks her head and drags her tongue along the cut of his hips, first one side, and then the other. Derek has to curl his hands into fists, claws digging into his palms, to keep from arching into it, and he hates that everyone can hear the way his blood is rushing through his veins. Lydia hums in appreciation, locks of her hair drag up across his chest when she leans over him, reaching for the salt shaker. “Now be a good boy Derek,” she orders in that husky voice as she sprinkles salt across his skin. Derek can’t help the way his whole body flushes hot, but he doesn’t really care with Lydia looking at him like she wants to eat him alive (in the best way possible). He opens his mouth willingly, clenching the slice of lime between his teeth when she places it there. His eyes flutter closed at the cold slosh of tequila filling his belly button. It’s even worse this way, when he can feel but not see the hot slide of her tongue across his skin and the suction of her lips as she drinks up the tequila. He’s not at all prepared for the soft press of her lips against his, tasting like alcohol and the sharp tang of lime juice as it drips down from her teeth. He’s surprised when she spits out the lime and kisses him again, tongue dipping between his lips as if she’s chasing the taste of the lime. She pulls back before he can fist a hand in her hair and kiss her like he means it, rolling off him and patting his cheek. “Come on big guy, show me what you got.”

Emboldened by the beer and the weed and the wine, Derek pushes himself to his knees, watching hungrily as Lydia strips off her shirt and throws it at Stiles, giggling when it lands on his head. Derek runs his tongue across the front of his teeth, letting his eyes wander across her curves as he tries to decide what he wants to do. He remembers suddenly that they’re in a room full of people, but when he jerks his head up, he finds everyone watching with undeniable interest. Stiles has a pillow placed suspiciously in his lap, but Scott and Isaac aren’t even bothering to hide their approval of the proceedings. Erica and Boyd have moved to the couch, too busy with each other to notice what’s going on. The three other girls are in various stages of undress, eyes trained on him and Lydia.

Derek ducks his head and licks one strip up the center of her stomach, another across her collarbone. Lydia arches beneath him, and he swears he can taste her desire on his tongue. He wants to chase it, wants to get his mouth on every inch of her, but he stops himself, and grabs the salt shaker. Moving quickly, he sprinkles it across her skin, smirking as he places a lime over her parted lips and wedges a shot glass between her plump breasts.

“Oh fuck.” Someone groans, Stiles probably, as Derek fills the glass with tequila. He not so accidentally splashes some onto the curve of her breast, the pink cotton on the edge of her bra darkening. Derek stares into her deep green eyes, silently asking permission. Lydia nods slightly, eyes darkening as Derek slowly lowers his head and laps up the spilled liquor, sucking on the fabric of her bra.  

“Don’t move Lydia,” he cautions as her eyes roll back in her head. Her skin seems even warmer now as he licks up the salt, quickly from her stomach, slowly from her collarbone. He sucks not quite hard enough to leave bruises, getting caught up in the feel of her pulse beneath his tongue. His beard leaves a trail of flushed skin as he drags his cheek across her chest, closing his lips around the rim of the shot glass. He flicks it back, wincing at the burn before mimicking Scott and spitting the glass at him, diving down to bite the lime instead of watching its trajectory. Lydia’s fingers curl in his hair, holding him close as her lips and her tongue and the lime tangle with his own. It’s sloppy and not that great, but he still wants more, wants to know what her tongue would feel like on his neck and his ears.

The sound of Isaac clearing his throat has him pulling back, sitting back on his heels and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Lydia winks at him as she crawls back into her spot beside him in the circle. Derek flushes and looks away, hating the way everyone’s eyes are trained on him.

“It’s your turn Der,” Scott says gently, nodding his head pointedly towards the bottle. Derek supposes he should feel anxious, but he feels comfortable with these people, his pack. He feels  _safe_. Unafraid, he leans forward and spins the bottle, watching it twirl with bated breath. It spins and spins and spins, seemingly taking ages to wobble to a stop halfway between Stiles and Scott. The two best friends share a look, eyebrows twitching before turning to grin simultaneously at Derek.

“Looks like you hit the jackpot big guy!” Stiles announces, bumping his elbow against Scott’s. Derek forces himself to at least roll his eyes, not wanting to show how into it he actually is. He tries to roll the dye like he doesn’t care, but he can’t help the thrill the travels down his spine when the dye settles on three.

Scott absolutely lights up, scrambling to his feet and dragging Derek and Stiles with him. “Time this Al!” He yells over his shoulder, shoving Derek and Stiles into the front closet. Derek suddenly feels nervous, surrounded by coats that smell like Kira and Scott and  _pack,_  now mixing with the heady scent of arousal and the unmistakable cloud of weed. He can feel Scott and Stiles’ eyes on him, but when he shifts to look at them, they’re already kissing lazily, Stiles’ fingers reaching back to hook through one of Derek’s belt loops.

“I want your dick,” Scott murmurs against Stiles mouth, dropping to his knees right there. “You take care of Der, okay?” Stiles lets out a low moan as Scott yanks his jeans and boxers down over his hips. Derek can’t help but stare at Stiles’ cock, flushed and hard, curving up towards his flat stomach. Scott doesn’t waste any time, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking hard. Stiles hips buck and he pulls Derek closer, hands scrabbling across his abs, sticky with tequila and salt and saliva.

“Come ‘ere,” he gasps, one hand reaching down to cup the back of Scott’s head. Stiles kisses like he can’t live without it, open mouthed and desperate. He tastes like weed and tequila, hell everyone probably does at this point, but it’s addictive. Derek traces his tongue along the inside of Stiles’ upper lip, moaning when Stiles tugs on his hair in response. He kisses down Stiles’ long neck, finally getting to taste the skin he’s thought about for years. It’s distracting, the wet sounds of Scott’s mouth on Stiles’ dick, and it’s hotter than he ever could have imagined. He lets himself watch, his own jeans uncomfortably tight as he stares at the stretch of Scott’s pink lips, the spit dripping out of the corners of his mouth. Scott glances up at him then, eyes glowing red in the darkness of the closet. He pulls off Stiles with a wet pop, continuing to jerk him off with one hand as he fumbles with the zip of Derek’s jeans with the other.

“You’re so hot Der,” he murmurs, fingers curling in the waistband of his boxers and pulling them down just far enough for to pull his cock out.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Stiles hisses between his teeth at the same time as Scott lets out a low moan. Derek’s breath catches in his throat when Scott traces the vein along the bottom of his dick with the tip of his tongue, lapping up the pre-come beading at the tip. He groans and buries his face in Stiles neck, knowing already he’s not going to last long. “God look at you,” Stiles sighs, tweaking one of Derek’s nipples between his fingers. He grins when Derek moans and throws his head back, and even now he’s annoying, and Derek needs to tell him that.

“Shut up Stiles,” his growl trails off into a moan as Scott takes him all the way into his mouth. Derek can feel Scott’s throat fluttering against his dick, and all it takes is Stiles pressing blunt human teeth to the side of his neck and he’s coming, entire body arching. Stiles swears and follows suite, stripes of come landing on Scott’s bottom lip and chin.

“Fuck Scott I’m sorry,” Stiles splutters, patting awkwardly at the alpha’s face. Derek growls low in his throat and hauls Scott to his feet, licking Stiles’ come from Scott’s chin, then his lips. Stiles is swearing again but Derek ignores him, angling his face to kiss Scott deeper, tasting himself and Stiles and Scott all mixing together. Scott’s fingers press hot against his shoulder blades, and Derek wants to push him back against the wall, wants to hear the sounds his alpha makes when he’s falling apart.

Before he can follow those desires through there’s a loud knock at the door.

“Jesus Christ times been up for like ten minutes,” Malia yells. “Can you guys come back now?” It seems like it should be awkward, tucking his dick back into his pants while two of his closest friends in the world giggle and do the same. Derek feels good, but not sated. He wants  _more_.

They tumble back out into the light together, only to find the game kind of disbanded. Erica and Boyd have disappeared to who knows where. Isaac seems all too content watching Allison, Malia and Kira, who are tangled together on the couch. His head snaps up when Scott steps towards him though, and Derek can see the moment Isaac realizes Scott’s still hard.

Derek has so many questions he wants to ask. He doesn’t understand how this is all happening. He thought Isaac was dating Allison and Scott and Kira are engaged, and this just isn’t clicking in his brain. But at the same time it makes sense. Who says you can only love one person? Before he can ask any of his questions though, he has Lydia grabbing his hand, dragging him  _and_ Stiles up the stairs and into a spare bedroom.

“Come on Derek,” she purrs, stretching out on the bed, having lost her skirt somewhere along the way. Stiles only shrugs when Derek looks at him, which is not at all helpful. But his want for Lydia overcomes his confusion, and he steps forward, pushing his jeans off before climbing onto the bed with her.

“What do you want?” He asks, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, her upper thigh, just above her belly button. Lydia sighs, and tilts her hips, fingers curling through his hair. Derek groans because he  _knows_  what she’s asking for, and god does he  _want_. “Hmmmm,” he hums, crawling further up her body to capture her plush lips in a kiss, sliding a hand between her back and the mattress to unclip her bra. “What about Stiles?” He asks, kissing down her neck, letting his beard scrape down her chest.

“He can do the same for you,” Lydia breaths, and Derek has to stop, pressing his face into her belly as he groans.

“Hell yeah,” Stiles huffs from behind him, the mattress dipping as he joins them. His fingers are cool as they trace down Derek’s back, following the curve of his spine only to rest at the waistband of his briefs. “I mean, if you’re into that.”

“Of course he’s into it,” Lydia snaps, and Derek can’t help the slightly hysterical chuckle that slips between his lips. He doesn’t even know how he got to this point, but God does he like it.

“Yeah, I’m into it.” He confirms, glancing over his shoulder at Stiles. He regrets it immediately, not at all prepared for the warm honey eyes and kiss-red lips, the way Stiles’ entire chest has flushed red. Derek turns away quickly, but that view’s not any better. Lydia’s watching him with hooded eyes, lips parted as she flicks a thumb back and forth across one of her nipples. He growls and hooks one of her legs over his shoulder, pressing his face against her panties and just  _breathing_. Lydia whimpers and Stiles groans, and Derek truly doesn’t know how he’s going to survive this.

Pulling back he pulls Lydia’s panties off, tossing them over his shoulder as he settles between her thighs. He doesn’t hold back, wanting to please Lydia more than anything else. She’s not afraid to direct him though, murmuring low words of encouragement and pulling on his hair to get him in the right spot. He forgets all about Stiles, too focused on Lydia’s moans in his ears and his fingers sliding in and out of her slick heat. But then his briefs are being yanked down, and there’s a tongue licking all the way from his balls up to the base of his spine. Derek groans against Lydia, the rhythm he’d worked up to faltering. He forces himself to keep going while Stiles flicks his tongue around his rim, moaning pornographically the whole time.

At this point he shouldn’t be surprised when Lydia pulls out lube and condoms from God knows where, tossing the lube to Stiles with a smirk.

“You okay with this Der?” Stiles asks gently, fingers pressing hard against hips. Derek glares at him over his shoulder, three fingers still fucking in and out of Lydia. He wants to say that  _obviously I’m fucking okay with it, you just had your tongue in my ass_ , but instead he just growls out a low,

“Yes.” Both Lydia and Stiles’ hearts jump in response, and that alone adds to the heat that seems to be curling around the base of his spine. He leans back over Lydia, continuing to curl his fingers inside of her as he closes his teeth around a peaked nipple. She arches beneath him at the same time as Stiles circles one lubed finger around his rim, slowly pressing inside. Derek moans at the intrusion, forcing himself to remain relaxed at Stiles slowly pushes his finger in.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot Der,” Stiles swears, slowly fucking his finger in and out. Derek smothers his moans against Lydia’s mouth, descending further into this heaven/hell when she wraps a warm little hand around his leaking cock.

“Want you to fuck me,” Lydia murmurs between kisses, and Derek can feel her grin when his dick twitches in her hand. Stiles chooses that moment to add another finger, starting to fuck him with them in earnest. Derek matches the rhythm with his own fingers inside Lydia, curling them until he hits the angle that makes her throw her head back and moan. Her breathy demands to not stop distracts him from the burn of Stiles’ fingers scissoring inside him, stretching him deliciously.

“Derek, Derek I’m gonna, I’m gonna…” Lydia tapers off into open mouth moans, legs trembling.

“Yeah, come on Lyds,” he murmurs, kissing her neck. “Want to see you come for me.”

“Jesus Christ Derek,” Stiles swears as Lydia comes with a yell, her entire body shaking with the force of it.

“I’m ready Stiles, come on,” Derek growls over his shoulder. “Just uh, let’s give Lyds a minute…” He turns his attention back to her, pushing a limp lock of hair out of her face. Lydia smiles up at him, eyes a little hazy as she leans into his hand.

“Just kiss me,” she demands, curling a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down. This is kiss is different from the other’s they’ve shared tonight, lazy and slow, heat like coals instead of flames building in his chest. “I can go again.” Lydia insists, reaching for a condom and ripping it open.

Derek would protest, but he can hear Stiles ripping open a condom too, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed.  He’s not sure what to focus on, Lydia rolling the condom on him, her hands stroking him slowly, or the blunt tip of Stiles’ dick pushing inside of him. He ends up focusing on the later first, listening to Stiles’ soft encouragements as Lydia leans up and peppers his face with kisses.

“You’re so good Der,” Stiles moans, tracing his tongue along the lines of his tattoo. Derek waits until he can’t stay still any more, can’t stand how full he feels.

“Stiles, move.” He growls, moaning and pressing his face to Lydia’s chest when Stiles complies. It’s good, so good, and the sounds Stiles is making doesn’t help anything. “Come on Lyds,” Derek murmurs, reaching for a pillow and shoving it under her ass. He slicks his dick up with lube just to be safe, holding himself up on one arm as he guides himself into her. The movement dislodges Stiles, and it’s awkward at first, finding a rhythm that works. Eventually Derek gets it right, thrusting into Lydia and then fucking himself back on Stiles’ cock. He feels overstimulated already, with Lydia legs locked around his waist and Stiles hot breath against the back of his neck, both of them panting his name.

Stiles shifts and suddenly he’s hitting just the right spot every time Derek snaps his hips back. Derek knows he going to come soon, and he’s going to come hard. His entire body feels hot, his skin too tight and sweat pooling in the dips of his spine. He slips one hand between himself and Lydia, rubbing his thumb across her clit.

“Fuck Derk,” she hisses, hips jerking involuntarily. This time she comes silently, head thrown back and entire body tensing. Derek picks up the pace, the sounds of slapping skin filling the room. He buries himself inside Lydia when he comes, reaching behind him to drag Stiles in at the same time. Stiles cries out when he clenches around his dick, teeth sinking into Derek’s shoulder as he falls apart.

Derek manages to collapse only half on top of Lydia with Stiles plastered to his back, still buried deep inside him. They lay there together until their breathing evens out, chests rising and falling in sync. Derek’s waiting for the awkwardness to settle in, but it never comes. Not when he growls at Stiles to pull out, not when Lydia whines and tries to keep him from getting off the bed. He sneaks out of the room and down the hall, returning with two warm wash clothes. It smells overpoweringly of sex and sweat in the bedroom, but he kind of likes it. He was wearing a condom so he doesn’t really _need_  to clean Lydia up, but he does anyway, washing away the sticky lube residue and sighing as Stiles does the same for him. Derek and Stiles both pull their underwear back on, and Lydia finds a t-shirt in the bureau in the corner. She lays her head on Derek’s chest, little fingers tracing patterns around his belly button, still slightly sticky with tequila, and across his abs. Stiles seems to think that wrapping himself around Derek’s arm is a good idea, lips pressed against the ball of Derek’s shoulder.

“What are you, a sloth?” Derek mumbles, wrapping his non Stiles occupied arm around Lydia, rubbing his hand up and down her back. The t-shirt she’s wearing smells like Isaac, and it should be weird, but it’s not. If anything, it settles Derek, his eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m more of a howler monkey I think,” Stiles replies, lips dragging across Derek’s skin as he speaks. Lydia snorts out a laugh, and soon both of them are giggling. It’s impossible for Derek to keep the smile off his face. He wishes he had another arm, so he could hold Stiles close too. He settles for pressing a kiss to his forehead and leaning back against the pillows, eyes slipping closed as sleep overtakes him.

The sound of the door creaking open has Derek blinking awake. Morning sunlight streams through the windows, dancing across Lydia’s hair and lighting it up like fire. She’s rolled away from him in the night, but she’s still facing him, curled in on herself and looking absolutely angelic in sleep (Derek has zero misconceptions though. He knows for a fact that she is hell on heels and should not be messed with). Stiles is attached to his back, one long arm looped around him, his big hand pressed over Derek’s heart. It feels  _right_  and Derek’s not sure what to make of it.

He glances up at the door to find Kira and Scott watching them, their expressions soft and… hopeful? Derek rolls his eyes but jerks his chin, unable to stop himself from smiling when Scott crows with delight and races towards the bed. The alpha manages to insert himself between a very grouchy Stiles and Derek’s back, pressing a soft kiss to Derek’s shoulder. Kira climbs in behind Lydia, tucking her face against the back of her neck and lacing their fingers together. It’s oddly peaceful, being surrounded by warm bodies, warm bodies that he cares about deeply. He feels safe and comfortable and  _happy_.

Lydia mumbles something that sound suspiciously like his name in her sleep, shifting closer until her head is pillowed in his bicep. There’s a warm feeling settling in Derek’s chest as he wraps his arm around both girls, stroking his fingers slowly through Kira’s silky hair. Kira lifts her head and smiles softly at him, eyes still bleary with sleep. He recognizes the warmth as contentment then, and it’s almost as overwhelming as all the sensations he was dealing with last night. Scott sighs against his shoulder, grip tightening momentarily, like a hug.

“Love you man,” he murmurs sleepily against his skin. His heart doesn’t skip, but it makes Derek’s. “I fucking love cuddling. We should do this more often.” The alpha smothers a laugh against Derek’s shoulder, breath hot and damp against his skin.

“Shut up Scotty I’m sleeping,” Stiles grumbles, and Derek can’t help but let out a low chuckle.

He feels like he’s finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come hang out on [tumblr](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com) with me!


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